Map of the Dead: A mystery thriller that's a page turner

by Murray Bailey

  “Jesus. Have you—”

  “Yep, it’s happened to me before. Bastards. They turn your life upside down, find you are totally innocent and leave. No apology. No compensation. And your house and rep are left damaged.” You haven’t talked to the press, have you?”

  The sudden switch almost caught Alex unprepared. “No, why would I?” he lied.

  “Don’t. The cops’ll pick up on it. The hacks twist what you say and the cops’ll assume it’s true.”

  Alex didn’t say anything. It was too late to undo the interview with Milwanee. With a bit of luck it wouldn’t be published. After all, they’d hardly scratched the surface.

  Pete continued, “I’ve already been contacted. God knows how they found my phone number. Just be careful what you say and who you say it to.”

  Alex spent the rest of the afternoon checking on the news but learned nothing new about the gas explosion. Milwanee had said murder but the police weren’t disclosing their suspicions. Maybe she had jumped to the wrong conclusion. He read other articles where the police had said similar things. In nearly every case, murder was confirmed within a few days. My God, Ellen hadn’t just been paranoid. Maybe someone was really after her. Maybe Pete was right about treasure after all.

  The doorbell buzz made him jump. It was Nadja.

  “I didn’t like to just let myself in. That’s why I rang bell,” she explained as she came in. “Mr MacLure—you look like you’ve seen ghost.”

  “I thought…” He waved it away and forced a smile. “I can’t remember… What were you…?”

  She pointed to Topsy, who was up and wagging her tail. “I said I walk her.”

  He grinned. Of course. With everything going on, his mind seemed like jelly.

  The doorbell buzzed again, only this time it was accompanied by firm knocking. Nadja automatically picked up the intercom phone and then looked awkward. She handed it to Alex apologetically.

  “Alex MacLure?” a man’s voice said.

  “Yes.”

  “Thames Valley Police. Can we come in?”

  Moments later, a tall, thin and swarthy-skinned man stood in the doorway. Indian, was Alex’s initial assessment. The man showed his ID. Detective Constable Dixit. A step behind him was a woman, five inches shorter, with dark hair tied back untidily. Her ID said Detective Sergeant Belmarsh.

  “Interesting name,” Alex said. “Belmarsh, like the prison.”

  She nodded slightly and looked past Alex at Nadja.

  “Who are you?”

  “A neighbour,” Alex responded, “who is just about to take my dog for a walk.”

  DS Belmarsh said, “I’m sure she can speak for herself. Your name, Miss?”

  “Nadja.”

  She took out a notebook. “Miss Nadja…?”

  “Dabrowska.” She spelled it out for her as the sergeant wrote it down.

  Belmarsh looked from one to the other as if assessing the veracity of the statement, then shrugged slightly and took a step towards a chair. “Can we sit?”

  “Can I go then,” Nadja said, attaching Topsy’s lead. “If that all right?”

  Belmarsh looked at Alex. “You have Miss Dabrowska’s contact details should I need to speak to her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you are free to walk Mr MacLure’s dog, Miss Dabrowska.” The way she said it made Alex think she didn’t believe them.

  When the door closed behind her, Alex sat in the same place on the sofa as before. “How can I help you, Detectives?”

  Dixit introduced himself formally and said they were making enquiries following Ellen’s death.

  “I’ve seen the news,” Alex said. “You now think she was murdered.”

  “There is an enquiry due to suspicions.” Dixit squinted, maybe thinking, maybe just for effect. Belmarsh sat silently. She had the unnerving way of looking above his eyeline. It made her look part superior, part dopey.

  Dixit said, “You’ll understand that we can’t disclose any details. Now, if you don’t mind, we have some questions.”

  Alex remembered what Pete had said about them finding his phone number. “Before we start,” he said, “how did you know where I live?”

  Dixit’s mouth twitched a smile. “We have, of course, interviewed Miss Champion’s family. So…” He let his voice trail off and watched for recognition on Alex’s face.

  “OK. Of course, they know my address. And phone number. You could have called.”

  “We prefer to do these things face-to-face,” Belmarsh said, which Alex interpreted as catch you unprepared. Dixit continued: “Now, if you don’t mind, could you tell me how you know Miss Champion.”

  Alex explained that he’d known her for almost fifteen years, that they had met at Oxford Brookes University and had been close friends.

  “She was your girlfriend?”

  “In the past, yes. But a long time ago. We were just friends more recently. Hopefully you know that from her parents?”

  Belmarsh raised an eyebrow. “A friend-with-benefits, then?”

  “Just friends.” Alex felt his chest tighten with anger at the suggestion, especially under the circumstances, but the detectives seemed to have moved on.

  Dixit asked, “And she often stayed here, in this flat?”

  “Yes.” Alex pointed to the spare room down the hall. “In that room.” Then, with emphasis, he added: “Which is not my bedroom.”

  “OK, we’ll take a look in a moment.” Dixit seemed to check his notes, maybe biding time. “And you worked together.”

  “Not really.”

  “Oh? She worked for the British Museum. Didn’t you also?”

  “Kind of. They don’t pay me. I’m a research fellow.”

  “And Miss Champion?”

  “Also a researcher but employed at the same time.”

  Belmarsh said, “Splitting hairs, Mr MacLure?”

  Alex stared hard at the detective. “God, you suspect me, don’t you? That’s what this is about.”

  Belmarsh returned his stare.

  Alex said, “She was my best friend. No way would I hurt her. If you’re looking for a killer then you are looking the wrong way. For God’s sake, I didn’t do it. You need to be out there looking for the person who did!”

  “Person?” Belmarsh continued the stare.

  “Just a figure of speech. If you mean, do I know if it was one person rather than two or more, I don’t.” Alex breathed in and out. He was riled and could see that Belmarsh was more interested now he was angry.

  Dixit was looking at the bookshelf. “You have a lot of books.”

  “I like reading.”

  “Mathematics and history the main subjects? Unusual combination isn’t it?”

  Alex shrugged, “I like puzzles. History is interesting, generally, but Egyptology, specifically because there are a lot of mysteries—unanswered questions.”

  Belmarsh said, “Talk us through your employment history, please.”

  Alex found himself telling the same story about being an accountant and switching to Egyptology that he’d told Aysha Milwanee earlier. Dixit wrote it all down.

  “When did you leave Shelley’s Recruitment?”

  “Six months ago.”

  Belmarsh snapped a question: “When was the last time you saw Miss Champion?”

  “Last weekend. Just two days before the explosion.”

  “Before she died,” Belmarsh clarified unnecessarily.

  “That’s right.”

  Dixit wrote in his notebook. “The weekend of the 7th and 8th? All weekend?”

  “From the Saturday night until Sunday morning. She would normally stay longer. I think she went to her mum’s for Sunday dinner.”

  “Did she?” Dixit said with something in his tone that said she didn’t.

  “That’s what she said.” Alex felt his face flush as though he were lying, as though the policeman had caught him out. Had she said that? He added, “I’m fairly sure she said she was, anyway.”

  �
��And how was she when you saw her?”

  “She was a bit anxious, maybe depressed, although she always denied it. She was often that way. That’s why she’d come and stay. I think being with me helped her. Presumably her parents told you she was on medication for it. Venlafaxine.”

  Dixit wrote it down.

  “What did you do when she was here on Saturday 7th?”

  “We watched a film and had an Indian takeaway.” When asked, Alex named the takeaway restaurant and the film. It was a recent release that he’d illegally downloaded. If guilt showed on his face, the detectives didn’t seem to notice.

  Dixit said, “Presumably you could find a receipt or something?”

  “For the takeaway?”

  “Yes, of course the takeaway.”

  Alex thought for a moment. “It’ll be on my card statement.”

  Dixit nodded after taking more notes. “What were you doing on the evening of Monday 9th?”

  “I was home. I took Topsy—she’s my dog. We went out for about forty minutes. After that I made something to eat, watched a couple of things on TV and went to bed.”

  “Alone?”

  “Alone.” Alex realized this meant no alibi.

  “And what were you doing during the early hours of Tuesday morning?”

  “I slept until six, maybe a bit after, but definitely got up before six thirty.”

  Dixit pursed his lips as he jotted it down. After a moment of silence he looked up sharply. “Who would want to kill Ellen?”

  Alex blinked. “I… I don’t know.”

  “Did she have any enemies? Anyone she had upset or who was upset with her?”

  “No.”

  “Can you think of any reason, any reason at all, that someone would do this?”

  “No.”

  Dixit was silent for a while as he paged through old notes. Alex watched him uncomfortably.

  Finally, Dixit flicked his book closed.

  Belmarsh stood. She said, “Can you give us a quick tour?”

  There wasn’t much to see. The kitchen and lounge were open-plan. Alex’s bedroom was off the lounge. The bathroom and the small spare room were dog-legged off a hall.

  Belmarsh followed him into the spare room. Dixit stood in the doorway.

  She looked around. There was a three-quarter-sized bed, a bedside table, a chest of drawers and a free-standing wardrobe. There was a fist-sized ornament on the window ledge: silver and turquoise-blue with hieroglyphs running round the coloured rings. On the wall was a painting of Topsy when she was much younger: brighter eyes, glossier coat and no grey around the muzzle.

  Belmarsh asked, “So you say this is where Miss Champion stayed on the weekend of the 7th and 8th?”

  “Yes. Although she left early on Sunday.”

  “Are there any personal items of hers?”

  Alex opened the wardrobe. A couple of blouses, a coat and dressing gown hung forlornly on one side. “There’s also the odd thing in the drawers. Not much.”

  “Mind if I…?” she asked. Before Alex could answer, the policewoman stepped around him and checked the clothes in the wardrobe. She took a photograph using her smartphone. “Just to remind me rather than spend time taking notes now,” she said by way of explanation.

  Belmarsh fished in the pockets of the dressing gown and found nothing but tissues. Then she manoeuvred around Alex again and pulled open the drawers. In the top drawer there were underwear items plus an open box of tampons, deodorant and a scattering of make-up. In the middle drawer there was a jumper, a pair of jeans, a scarf and neatly folded T-shirts. A spare sheet for the bed was in the bottom one. Belmarsh took a photograph of each one.

  The bedside table had a single drawer. It revealed pens, pencils, a spiral-bound notebook, an open packet of paracetamol, some herbal tablets and a pillow spray called Deep Calm.

  As she took a photo, Belmarsh asked, “Did she have trouble sleeping?”

  “Quite often. Yes. It was nothing new. She’s always been a bad sleeper.” He realised his mistake as soon as he said it. Ellen was dead.

  Belmarsh just watched him and showed no concern that he’d lost his best friend. She said, “And she stayed often?”

  “Every other week or so. Nothing scheduled. Depended on when she wanted to be at the museum or just wanted a break and a curry.”

  “Because you were her best friend?”

  Alex breathed in and out, trying not to get riled. “Yes. And convenient for work in town.”

  The detective walked out and down the hall. For the first time Alex realized that the other detective was no longer standing in the hallway.

  Belmarsh took a brief look in the bathroom. “Everywhere is very tidy for a single guy. The bathroom is spotless.”

  “That’s because I have a cleaner. Nadja—I mean Miss Dabrowska.”

  “Nice if you can afford it.” The detective smiled. “And does she do anything else for you?”

  “Just cleaning and dog walking.” Alex said pointedly.

  “Not another friend-with-benefits, then?”

  Alex felt his chest tighten again but said nothing.

  As they returned to the lounge, Dixit was standing in front of the bookcase. He turned and exchanged a nod with Belmarsh.

  Dixit said, “You certainly have an eclectic mix of books, Mr MacLure.”

  Alex shrugged, waited for more, but the detective wasn’t forthcoming.

  Belmarsh said, “Thank you for your help, Mr MacLure. We’ll be in touch if we need you further.”

  The two detectives moved to the door and turned. They took another long look around the open-plan space.

  Alex said, “If Ellen was murdered, please find the person—or persons—who did this.”

  Dixit opened the door. “We’ll do our best, sir.”

  For a moment, Alex watched them walk towards the communal front door. Then a thought struck him. “One minute. Can I ask if you found a laptop at the house—the one…?”

  Dixit responded, “Where she was found? We can’t tell you that, I’m afraid. Why?”

  “Her research,” Alex said. “I can’t find her research. And maybe, if she was murdered, maybe it was about that.”

  Fox, the man who had been in the blue suit, knocked on the rear door of a white transit van. Without waiting for a response, he opened the door and climbed in. Another man, codename Bat, sat on a chair in front of a bank of electrical equipment. He wore headphones that were askew and covering only one ear.

  Fox said, “Any news?”

  Bat nodded. “They were detectives from Thames Valley Police. The woman got MacLure wound up, but apart from that it was just an exploratory interview.”

  “Do you think the rabbit”—he emphasized the name—“knows anything?”

  “If he does, he’s a good actor.” Bat focused on the equipment, turned a dial and said, “But listen to this.”

  Fox heard Alex say: “I can’t find her research. And maybe, if she was murdered, maybe it was about that.”

  “OK, so he’s suspicious it’s about her research.” Fox pulled out a phone and dialled.

  After it was answered, he listened and then said, “Nothing so far. It doesn’t look like the rabbit knows anything.”

  The person at the other end asked a question. Fox said, “My opinion: if it wasn’t an accident then someone has done us a favour.”

  He listened again and then ended the call. “We’re to stick with it,” he said to Bat. “Just in case.”

  SEVEN

  DI Jackson looked up from the autopsy report on his desk and rubbed his eyes. His gut had been right. Murder. He knew the young detectives thought of him as the old timer and past it. Undoubtedly they knew he’d been passed over for promotion many times. Undoubtedly they knew his face didn’t fit, that the Super didn’t like him. Maybe they worried that their own careers would be limited under him. Maybe, but he didn’t give a damn. They should respect his instincts. He smiled at the thought. He’d known the Champion death had looked
wrong and he’d been right.

  The three junior detectives, two sergeants—Limb and Belmarsh—and DC Dixit, looked at him expectantly. Dixit was a bright one. He reminded Jackson of himself, maybe twenty-five years ago, when he was ambitious, when he wasn’t disillusioned with the police force.

  “Time of death estimated as three hours before the explosion,” he grunted.

  DS Limb was perfectly groomed with a neat goatee. He wore smart grey suit trousers with a matching waistcoat and burgundy loafers. Mr Vanity, Jackson mentally labelled him. Which he knew was hypocritical since he could barely read the reports on his desk. His eyesight had deteriorated so much that he needed glasses. In the past two years he’d become longsighted but refused to wear reading glasses. Was that vanity or just a fight against ageing?

  He tore his gaze from Limb’s ridiculous footwear. They had little tassels, for God’s sake! He looked at DS Belmarsh. “The trauma to the back of the head… an occipital fracture possibly from a blunt instrument. The majority of the contusions are post-mortem—likely caused by the explosion but perimortem marks suggest a struggle.”

  He opened the file at another page: the SOCO’s report. “The forensic report confirms a gas explosion. No surprise there, eh? A gas explosion occurs when the gas and air mixture reaches a critical point. Any spark, flame or heat source can ignite the mixture. We get an explosion rather than just a fire because of the pressure build-up.”

  Limb chipped in, “And the explosion can stop the fire spreading.”

  “Exactly. In effect, it blows itself out as soon as it’s created. So SOCO look for the point of the leak and ignition. In this case the leak was confirmed as the boiler.” He paused. “The point of ignition was also the boiler. Probably when it fired up to warm the water.”

  Limb said, “Between three and three and a half hours after Miss Champion’s death.”

  “Right.” Jackson hoped his tone told the DS to shut up, stop stating the obvious. Glancing at Dixit, he continued, “But there was an inconsistency, wasn’t there?”

  Dixit took the cue. “There was evidence of a fire in the lounge.”